Safe in His Arms (2 page)

M.O. of, ―don‘t get mad, get even.‖ He‘d done everything he could to win Reese back,

first with a carrot, then with a stick. Nothing had worked and in the end it was Hank

who had been kicked out of the game.

He watched them settle into a small booth in the corner. A waiter sauntered over to

the pair. Reese and his sidekick placed their orders and then leaned toward each other

over the small table, heads bent close.

Who would have thought the day would come when Reese would turn into a

touchy feely sap, all starry-eyed like some love struck teenager? Where was the Reese

he had once known, the guy who had been a virgin at eighteen, in the closet until Hank

had yanked him out?

If it weren‘t for Hank, Reese would have ended up a high school dropout at best, in

jail at worst. Hank‘s family money and influence had saved him from criminal charges

and for that Reese owed him big time. Until the past year, he‘d seemed to appreciate

that fact and even though he was not always easily managed, Hank had been able to

keep him in line.

Reese had enjoyed their dangerous games as much as Hank had. At least until this

last one, when Reese had forgotten to play by the rules. It had started out as their usual

bet. Hank would choose the mark and dictate the terms, and Reese would execute the

seduction. But this time, instead of following the script that had worked so well before,

Reese had veered wildly, letting his own emotions get in the way. Instead of using and

then tossing the chosen quarry aside, this time Reese actually fell for the guy.

Hank threw back the rest of his martini and gestured for the bartender, who mixed

him another drink and set it before him.

―What‘s your best champagne?‖Hank asked him.

―I‘ve got a bottle of Veuve Cliquot.‖

―Sold.‖ Hank put his American Express Black card on the counter and pointed

toward Reese. ―That blond guy in the corner booth. I want it sent over to him with my

compliments.‖

The bartender smiled knowingly. ―Like in those old movies, huh? Want to send a

note with it?‖

―Yeah. Good idea.‖ The bartender produced a pen and tore off a page from his

order pad, setting them in front of Hank. He retrieved a chilled bottle of champagne

and showed the label to Hank, who nodded his approval. Taking the credit card, he

returned it a moment later with the bill, which Hank signed.

The bartender placed the champagne in a bucket filled with ice. When he reached

for two glasses, Hank stopped him. ―Just one glass is fine.‖ The bartender shrugged and

did as he was told.

Hank thought a moment about what to write, and decided to keep it short and

sweet. He scribbled:
Ready to cut your losses and come back to the good life?
Fine

champagne was one of Reese‘s weaknesses, along with the best caviar, jetting to Paris

and all the other gifts Hank lavished on him over the years, before Reese‘s defection.

Now the poor bastard was reduced to drinking beer.

The waiter appeared by the bar and the bartender said, ―Joel, take this champagne

over to the blond guy in booth six, compliments of this gentleman.‖ Joel lifted his

eyebrows and smiled at Hank, who smiled reflexively back at the handsome young

man.

He felt a rush of eager anticipation as the waiter carried the tray toward Reese‘s

booth. True, their fight had been pretty serious this time, but surely enough time had

passed. It had been a month or more. There was no way that little nobody at Reese‘s

table could hold his interest for much longer. Shit, Reese was probably itching for an

excuse to ditch the guy and come back where he belonged.

Hank leaned back and took a deep drink from his glass, a smile of smug satisfaction

stealing over his face. Reese would read the note with relief, realizing he was being

given another chance. He‘d probably been looking for a way back, but had been too

proud to take the first step. When he saw who the champagne was from, he‘d

remember the good life he‘d abandoned, and realize what a terrible mistake he‘d made.

Reese would raise his glass in a toast to the man he‘d spent all his adult life with, or

even better, dump the loser at his table then and there, returning to Hank and the life of

luxury, dangerous games and hot sex they had shared.

He watched as Reese unfolded the note and read it, his cock hardening in

anticipation of yet another win. But Reese made no move to rise from the table. Instead

of a smile of thanks and recognition, he glared toward the bar where Hank sat. There

wasn‘t a trace of desire or relief that he was being offered another chance to return to

Hank‘s world of luxury and wicked games. Hank frowned as Reese looked away.

Reese spoke to the waiter, mouthing something Hank couldn‘t hear. The waiter

nodded, retrieved the tray and headed back toward the bar. Hank watched as Reese

tore his note in half and dropped it on the floor. To add insult to injury, he leaned over

the small table and kissed his pathetic lover.

The simmering anger that always bubbled just beneath the surface of Hank‘s

outward calm broke through his skin, heating it with rage. Who the fuck did Reese

think he was? Hank was a patient man, but this bullshit had gone on long enough.

The waiter returned to the bar a moment later with the tray and an apologetic

shrug. ―Sorry about that. He didn‘t want it, I guess.‖

It took every ounce of control not to grab the bottle and hurl it to the ground.

Instead he stood slowly, trying to keep his voice calm. ―You like champagne, Joel?‖

―Uh, yeah, sure.‖ Joel gave Hank an appraising gaze. The waiter probably didn‘t

appreciate Hank‘s Antonio Marris shirt, which no doubt cost more than he earned in a

week, or his Prada loafers, which would have covered the kid‘s rent, but he could see

Hank‘s hard, thickly muscled body and his eyes, which Reese used to tell him were

dark and brooding.

He gestured with his chin toward the silver ice bucket. ―Enjoy,‖ he said to Joel. ―I

have a little score to settle. Then maybe later, after you finish your shift…‖ He let the

sentence hang, aware he was far too keyed up and pissed off to follow through with the

seduction of this barely legal kid. He spoke more out of habit than desire. He was too

focused on the man who would have broken his heart—if he‘d had a heart.

He approached Reese‘s booth, smiling grimly. Two could play the rejection game.

―Good evening, Reese,‖ he said in a smooth voice, offering the slow, dangerous smile

that used to make Reese quail. ―Never thought I‘d see the day you would turn down a

bottle of Veuve Cliquot.‖ He let his gaze rake insolently over the geek across from

Reese, adding, ―I see your taste runs more to Bud Lite these days.‖

Reese regarded him coldly. ―You‘re not welcome here, Hank.‖

Hank narrowed his eyes, even the pretense of a smile falling away. ―Last I checked

this bar was a public place. You sure seem tense, Reese. You always did get edgy when

you weren‘t getting enough
real
lovin‘. Why don‘t you ditch the loser and come back to

my place? I‘ll remind you how it‘s done. Better yet, bring him along so we can teach

him a thing or two.‖

―Reese just said you‘re not welcome here. Is there something wrong with your

hearing?‖

Hank clenched his fists and turned his attention to Reese‘s new lover. His liquor-

soaked blood was boiling and his hands actually hurt with the need to smash

something, preferably the little prick‘s smug face. ―Lost your stutter, eh? Bet I can bring

it back real fast. Wanna come out back and I‘ll show you?‖

―You‘re drunk, Hank,‖ Reese interjected. ―Call your driver and get yourself home

before you end up in serious trouble.‖

―You threatening me, boy? Do you forget who you‘re dealing with?‖ He glared at

Reese. Back in the day, Reese would have backed down just from a look. Back when he

knew his place he would have stammered his apology.

Instead, Reese retorted, ―I know exactly who I‘m dealing with. When‘re you going

to get it? It‘s over between us, Hank. Over, finished, done. Even if you hadn‘t tried to

destroy my relationship with Jeff, we were on the way out, and if you weren‘t so

fucking self-absorbed and deluded, you would have understood that. I‘m done with

your games and your obsession with power and your control over my life. Got it? Now

get the fuck out of my face.‖

Unwilling to focus on the pain beneath his ribs that Reese‘s word caused, Hank

snarled, ―You ungrateful little shit. I saved your ass a dozen times over and this is how

you repay me?‖ Moving fast, he leaned down and grabbed Reese by the shirt, twisting

it as he pulled him half out of his seat.

A burly man a few inches taller than Hank was suddenly beside him, a heavy hand

pressing on his shoulder. ―Looks like we have a problem here.‖ He squeezed hard,

sending a shooting pain through Hank‘s arm. Hank let go of Reese‘s shirt.

―We do,‖ Jeff asserted. ―The guy‘s drunk and hassling my friend here.‖

The man‘s grip tightened on Hank‘s shoulder. ―Let‘s go, buddy. You‘ve had a few

too many. Time to head on home.‖ Hank was strong but this guy was built like a tank.

Hank tried to shake the man‘s grip, but he held fast, using his other hand at the small of

Hank‘s back to forcibly propel him away.

Hank was furious, not to mention humiliated. He hadn‘t realized he was going to

grab Reese‘s shirt until he‘d done it, but Reese had pushed him to it. He saw Joel out of

the corner of his eye, watching with a smirk on his face and wrote the guy off his list.

The bouncer led Hank firmly to the door and opened it. ―No hard feelings, buddy,‖

he offered. ―Just doin‘ my job.‖

~*~

―Gentleman‘s Elite, how may I help you?‖

―Hank Seeley. Account number 10896. Send me a blond. Now.‖ It was nearly

midnight but rage still eddied through Hank‘s blood. He knew the only thing that

would take the edge off enough for him to sleep was heavy duty sex with a willing rent

boy.

The escort service always provided him with fresh meat—eager whores who

appreciated his lavish tips and no doubt didn‘t mind his thick cock or the elegant

surroundings of his Cherry Creek home. He had their special direct line, the one

reserved for trusted, well-paying clients like himself. Money might not buy happiness,

but it sure bought just about everything else.

Forty-five minutes later a young man with blond hair to his shoulders and big

brown eyes showed up at Hank‘s door. Hank let him in, taking in the slender frame and

pale skin. He could snap this boy in half if he wanted to and the thought of taking him

hard made Hank‘s cock swell in his jeans.

―Hi,‖ the guy said in a shy voice Hank figured was manufactured, but he didn‘t

care. Gentleman‘s Elite had his profile and knew he liked them young and docile, even

a little fearful. He enjoyed the fantasy of plundering innocence and corrupting it to suit

him. It reminded him of Reese, back when they were still teenagers. Though only a little

older than Reese, Hank had been far more experienced. Hank still savored the

memories of their first months together. He had turned Reese from a hesitant,

frightened virgin into a wanton slut who couldn‘t get enough of Hank‘s cock.

Hank banished the memories of Reese from his brain and focused on the young

man in front of him. He wore a red T-shirt with the word
Queerboy
painted in white

lettering, over a pair of black jeans. A tattoo of a snake coiled around his left biceps.

―I haven‘t seen you before. You new?‖

―Yeah. Just started with the escort service. Actually new to the whole life.‖ Hank

looked him over, doubting this, but he didn‘t challenge it.

What‘s your name?‖ Hank asked.

―Randy,‖ the young man replied. Hank nodded, aware that probably wasn‘t his

real name, not that he cared. Randy was staring around the front hall, which had inlaid

marble floors and a crystal chandelier hanging from a cathedral ceiling. ―Wow, this is

some place you got.‖

Hank smiled, feeling a rush of satisfied pride as he waved Randy into the living

room. ―Thanks. I‘ll give you the quick tour—straight to the bedroom.‖

He gestured for Randy to precede him up the wide, curving staircase. ―You

probably know from my profile what I like. I‘m in kind of an uptight mood tonight, and

I find hard play eases the tension. The more you can take, the better the tip, got it?‖

―Yeah. I can take it.‖ The shyness had evaporated from Randy‘s tone, replaced by

something almost defiant.

Hank admired the view as Randy moved up the stairs ahead of him. They moved

past the master bedroom. He never took his boys for hire in there. Instead he led Randy

to a guest bedroom, where he wasted no time in stripping down, ordering Randy to do